Rent Drinking Game
by ILikeScarvesAndGuitars
Summary: Twists,turns,gasps! All based on a fabulous drinking game that I take no credit for. Please R
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay this fic stems from a fabulous Rentsecret on LJ my friend showed me.Kudos, Kudos (as Alexi Darling would say) to this person who made this. Basically it's a Rent drinking game. So, using the clever mind I am provided with, I decided to write a fic based on most of these points. This is so tongue in cheek, so no flaming please. I'm not sure if I'll continue on with it, unless I get reviews (people enjoy it).**The List:** tinypic dot c o m /52eh1ld dot gif (To make it work,just fix the spaces in between the words and letters and make sure the 'dot' is actually a dot).  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the list nor do I own Rent. If I did, that would be amazing, and I would be swimming in money right about now.

* * *

"God I'm bored." Roger Davis wiped sweat from his forehead as he leaned back and strummed another note on his guitar. 

"Well you could uh, go downstairs and see Mimi…I'm sure she could entertain you, if you know what I mean." The smaller man smirked in reply.

"Very funny."

"Or you could try to write another song again, or go and angst out in your room, or read another newspaper."

"Okay, Mark, I get it."

"OR you could walk around aimlessly, feel sorry for yourself, yell at The Man again, sing some more or--"

"Mark, shut up, you ruin life."

Mark chuckled and sipped some slightly warm water. It was hot, he had to admit, but Roger was slowly getting on his nerves.

"Why don't you go see Maureen? She's probably really lonely right now…Joanne is working some huge trial." Mark finally suggested.

"Why would I wanna see her?" Roger snorted.

"Well….I swear you two could be related."

"Oh I doubt that."

"No no, really. Both of you are drama queens."

"My ass we are. Well she is. I'm not."

"Keep denying it, Rog, keep denying it."

At this point, Mark was pretty sure Roger was about to kill him. Roger had that look.

That crazy-insane-angry-horse-look on him.

Just then, before Mark was scared Roger would neigh at him, their phone rang.

_SPEEEEEEEEAK_

"OHMYGODMARKYANDROGER,IT'SME,MAUREEN,ANDIHAVESOMEGREATNEWSYOUWILLWANNAHEAR!THROWDOWNTHEKEY!"

"Speak of the devil." Roger smirked and Mark ran over to their window, throwing down the key like they did so many times.

This author wishes she could throw down a key instead of getting up and answering the door. She hopes other writers wish this too.

A few minutes later, a Maureen Johnson strutted into the loft with a bright expression on her face. She held a few papers in her hand and she shoved them towards Roger.

"Guess what!"

Roger struggled to read the papers. If only he would of went back and completed his English classes again.

"What?" Mark and Roger said in unison.

"ROGER AND I ARE COUSINS!"

* * *

**Le gasp! I will love you forever if you just review. Seriously. Cookies might be provided.  
****If you are willing to come to Canada. cough**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ok I wanna thank everybody for the reviews! I'm so happy you guys like this. Just a reminder, most of the plot is based off of that fabulous drinking game that you can find the link to on the first chapter. Please R&R! (Points 3 & 4 will be used in this chapter).**

"We are **what**??" Roger had turned completely Mark-white and stood staring Maureen and holding the papers.

"COUSINS!" Maureen shrieked again.

"How…how do you know?" Roger stuttered. Mark stood staring at the both of them, wondering if he should intervene at any moment.

"God, Roger, can't you read?" Maureen snatched the papers from him and looked over them herself.

Roger's cheeks darkened and mumbled a small "No." before coughing to cover it up.

"It says right here that we have the same family members." Maureen pointed to a paragraph on one sheet of paper.

"Where did you get this?" Mark asked.

"Well there was this really nice computer in Joanne's office…and I searched 'family tree's' and I looked up my last name to see all the names that were related to mine…and Roger Davis was one of the names that popped up!" Maureen explained, still smiling.

"But how many Roger Davis' are there in this world?" Mark quipped. He looked over at the original Roger Davis who looked pretty sick at this moment.

"Well I'm pretty sure there can only be one. Imagine if people went around saying that _they _were Roger, or that they acted like him. Imagine if _they _had t-shirt's that say 'I am a Roger Davis', how silly would that be?" Maureen giggled.

(This author would like to point out that she indeed wished she actually had a t-shirt that says 'I'm a Roger' but sadly can't buy one. This author would accept any donations to her. Via mail.)

"That _would_ be pretty silly." Mark agreed.

"Roger, cousin, what do you think?" Maureen turned to Roger who had now fainted, lying lifeless on the floor.

"OH MY GOD!" Maureen screamed, and started to violently shake her new cousin.

Mark's face went whiter the white and he dropped to his knees, shaking Roger.

"Oh my God wake up!"

"Why isn't he moving?"

"Call an ambulance!"

"Damn it Mark, where's the phone?"

A few hours had passed, and an ambulance had finally come, taking Roger to the emergency room.

Mark and Maureen were told that Roger had a heart attack, probably caused by stress.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Maureen asked one of the nurses while they were out in the waiting room. Nobody was allowed to see Roger until the doctor said so, and that was four hours ago.

"We hope so….we think he might be dying." The nurse responded.

Maureen and Mark, stunned, watched as the nurse walked away.

"She looks like the blonde chick from Grey's Anatomy." Maureen sobbed, pushing her head into Mark's shoulder.

"Grey's what?" a confused Mark asked.

"Never mind."

Maureen continued to sob. Mark continued to wonder just what this 'Grey's Anatomy' was.

A few nurses and a really hot doctor, who Maureen swore looked like some 'McDreamy' fella, had coaxed Maureen and Mark to return home, and they would call them if anything changed with Roger's condition.

Maureen had offered to spend the night with Mark, and since this Mark and Maureen shipper-author had decided to make a shy Mark oblige for no reason whatsoever, Mark made his way home to his loft.

Mark was really hungry. He would get the munchies sometimes. Especially when he was worried.

He would need to eat nachos or salsa. In this case, he wanted some tomato paste on crackers.

Since Mark and Roger didn't own a can opener, Mark decided to use a large knife to open the can.

"God I hate doing this." Mark said to himself as he cut around the can.

Suddenly, their phone rang, startling Mark, whom, sadly, lost control of the knife, cutting his arm.

"SHIT!" Mark screamed as blood started run down his arm.

_SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK_

"Shut up shut up shut uppppp." Mark held his hand over his bleeding arm, and started to curse loudly. Using words this author can't publish.

"Mark, it's me, Roger, throw down the key!" Mark wondered if he had heard right, or if the blood had somehow gotten to his brain.

Being the amazingly handy person that Mark Cohen is, he ripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his arm and, even with one hand, tied the shirt onto his arm.

Fangirls squee, the author starts to cringe at the squee, not at a shirtless Mark Cohen.

He ran over to their window, and peered over the edge. Sure enough, Roger stood there, almost like a miracle, totally fine.

"Dude, are you giving me the key or what?"

A now very confused and dizzy Mark grabbed their key, throwing it down to Roger with his good hand.

Roger entered the loft, noticing blood and a knife resting on the counter.

"Are you okay?" Roger walked over to his friend, who was now sitting on their couch, counting Mississippi's over and over again.

"Yeah yeah I cut myself because you were dying. I mean…I was opening a can of tomato sauce with a knife and then I cut myself. Not because you were dying, I mean…are you dying?"

Roger raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine…just a little panic attack."

"But they said at the hospital….you had a heart attack…you were dying."

"Oh no!" Roger started to laugh. "There was a guy in there…he looked exactly like me...handsome, blonde hair…although it was short. Anyway, his name was Adam…and he could sing, man, he looked great. _He_ had a heart attack. He's fine now. The nurses must have got us mixed up. We are very handsome men."

Mark sighed and shook his head at his friend's craziness. "Whatever. Your cousin was worried about you."

"Shut up."

**Okay so the whole Adam/Roger thing was kinda...campy? But I have read many fics where the actors of Rent are actually put into the storyline. Cheesy, really. I hope you enjoyed and yes, it's a borderline crack!fic but that's okay. Please R&R. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: You have no idea how happy reviews make me, seriously. Thank you so much for them :-)**** If I could make everybody a plate of cookies, I would. I'd make them Roger-shaped cookies cause I've been making fun of him so much in this fic XD. Anyway R&R and enjoy!  
Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything. Drinking Game (see link in first chapter) belongs to the girl who made it (I have no idea who it is, either, if anybody does, thank her for me.), and Goodbye Love belongs to J to the Larson. **

* * *

A few days passed, Mark's arm had healed a bit and Roger wasn't having any panic attacks. He was taking the news of his new relation to Maureen with a grain of salt.

He just hoped he wasn't going to be invited to any family reunions with Maureen any time soon.

One morning, Roger and Mark were making friendly conversation and reading the Village Voice, when the names 'Christopher J. Hanke and Tim Howar' came up.

"Who are these two guys?" Roger furrowed his brow, scanning the Theater section of the paper.

"Well…I hear some writers think we are based off of those two."

"What? Where…who's a writer?" Roger asked, obviously confused.

"No, doorknob, writers…fanfiction writers….the ones who aren't really familiar with Broadway, I suppose, think that we are based off those two actors." Mark explained.

"Oh I see. People write about us? We have stalkers??"

Both walked to their window and peered over.

Two girls, both with black t-shirts that said the unfamiliar word 'Rent' on it quickly dashed away, but were squealing in the process.

Both shuddered and went back to their couch.

* * *

Mimi Marquez, Roger's stripping girlfriend (as if you didn't know) made her way up the stairs to Roger and Mark's loft.

She knocked on the door and Mark answered.

"Hey Mimi…were there some chicks outside your window this morning?"

Mimi smiled. "Yeah!! They were calling me a 'lucky bitch' and that I 'didn't deserve Roger.' How crazy is that?"

Mark laughed. "Pretty crazy. Roger is in his room."

"Whats new?"

Both chuckled at Roger's angst and Mimi knocked on Roger's door, entered, and closed it behind her.

Mark occupied himself with a large puzzle with a cow and a horse on it.

"Hey it's Maureen and Roger!" he laughed to himself, and made a mental note of showing Roger it.

A few minutes later, Mark could hear some yelling from inside Roger's room.

"You're in denial!"

"_You're_ in denial!"

"Damn it Roger, you didn't give an inch when I gave a mile."

"I gave a mile!"

"Gave a mile to who?"

Mimi and Roger were out of the room now, yelling at each other back and forth in the living room.

"Come on guys, chill!" Mark joined in, yelling.

"You know, I'd be happy to die for a taste of what Angel had. Someone to care for…unafraid to say 'I love you.'" Mimi yelled, starting to sob.

"Angel's dead?"

"Mark stay out of this – whoa, Angel isn't dead."

"Uh….yes…she is…."

"No, she came back. Remember. We were standing on the stage…." Roger reminded Mimi.

"Uh okay whatever. Anyway, I can't believe you, Roger!"

"What did he do now?" Mark sighed, sitting on the couch. "Did he cheat on you with Maureen? Cheat on you with one of the Cat Scratch dancers? April came back to life again? Started doing drugs? Did he cheat on you with ME?" Mark smirked.

"No, he…he was with a fangirl. A **fangirl**!" Mimi started to sob again, this time louder.

"Oh my God, that's like, the Seventh Deadly Sin right there." Mark said, appalled at his friend.

Roger looked down, face red.

"Did she write fanfiction?" Mark asked, feeling this was gonna get worse.

"Yes! Some thirteen year old too….she claimed she was twenty." Mimi shook her head. With that, she ran out of the loft.

"Dude, you are so screwed."

Roger sighed. "Okay, dude is my word. And leave me alone. Go film something."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So I kinda screwed up on Chapter 2, because I was supposed to use points 3 & 4, but I only used point 3. So to make it equal, this chapter will use 6 & 7, and next chapter will probably only use 8. I really hope this makes sense. I was really tired when I wrote chapter 2 (and I'm surprised I can be so witty when I'm running on 3 hours of sleep ;D). Enjoy!  
**

* * *

It had been a long week for both Mark and Roger. 

Mark could no longer go near a knife or a can of tomato paste without wincing and holding his arm, and Roger was, once again, alone in his room half the day with his guitar.

Mark always wondered just how Roger could sit there, strumming on his guitar. How was that exciting?

Mark also wondered if Roger talked to his guitar. Maybe he had a name for it.

Mark sighed. He had nothing else to think about.

His camera was out of film and he didn't have any money to buy anymore. Mark needed a job.

(And this writer is just going to slip in the fact that she will be writing a new fic titled 'Mark the Latte Boy,' so you can look for that soon.)

(This writer is dead serious.)

"You know, you and Mimi will just make up and have sex….that's what always happens in about every fic." Mark shouted to Roger, trying to cheer his friend up.

Roger yelled something inaudible back.

"OR she dies and then you cut yourself because you miss her so much. Or you blame yourself for her death and you go into withdrawal again."

This time Roger came out of his room to shout at Mark.

"You know, if I studied something, paid a salary, wouldn't have to do the shit I do for cash. My guts all steaming- fuck this dreaming. Speed, metal, rock: songs for the trash!"

"What?"

"That's right, I went there."

"_So?_ If I threw my body out the window, brain all splattered, guts all steaming in the snow, I wouldn't have to finish shooting films that no one wants to show!"

Both of them stood there, face to face, arms crossed.

"I can rhyme more then you."

"Can not."

"Can so."

"….we sound like we are six."

"Shut up shut up shut up." Roger covered his ears with his hands.

Suddenly, their door flew open, and in walked Thomas Collins, who this author would love to have as a teacher.

"Merry weekend, bitches!" He greeted, the author knowing she just killed that.

"TOM!" Mark and Roger both yelled and ran towards the door, sounding and acting almost bipolar.

"How about some Stoli?" Collins suggested, slipping off his shoes and carrying the big bottle to his friends.

"O, holy weekend...you struck gold again?" Mark asked, holding out a plastic cup Collins had provided for some Stoli.

"No, I just stole,er,_borrowed_ the money from Angel."

Mark and Roger nodded and invited their friend to sit down.

"So how is Angel, anyway?" Roger asked, putting his feet up on their table.

"Pretty good! After we all met on the stage that last time, she's been fine. She's always drumming on that damn pickle tub."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she never shuts up. Like we will be sitting there, eating dinner, and suddenly she's up on the table, drumming away with that stupid tub."

"I never knew you hated it." Mark smirked.

"Well it was kind of cute the first month or so we were dating," Collins paused for a moment to roll up a joint, "But now…I want to scream at her."

Roger nodded. "I know, it was the same with me and Mimi. She would always want to give me lap dances. I --"

Roger looked up to find both of his friends staring at him.

"…but I guess it's not the same thing." He finished quietly.

"_Anyway_," Mark coughed. "Well, you and Ang are always invited over to do whatever. Hey, we should invite Maureen and it'll almost be like a whole family type thing…sort of."

Roger laughed. "Heh cause you and Angel are brothers, right Collins?"

A very confused Roger Davis laughed at his own seriousness while Mark and Collins stared at him again.

"Uh Roger?"

"Mhmmm?"

"Are you high?"

"…maybe."

"So_ that's_ what you do in your room!" Mark smiled.

"You know, I wonder why I talk to either one of you."

"Because we are your best friends and we are the only ones who will sing with you."

"Oh yeah."

* * *

**Okay so kind of a random ending, but I like to leave them random because it's fun that way ;D**

**Oh and I am going to be writing Mark the Latte Boy after I'm done this fic. At the moment I'm writing another fic too (Why am I the Witness? The link is in my profile) so it might take a while. It'll be based on the Kristen Chenoweth song, so if you guys are interested, look out for it. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I am so sorry I haven't updated in like, forever. I just finished my exams so I'm working on my fics more. Please R&R.**

* * *

_SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK_

"_Ohhhh Markypooooooooo, it's your motherrrrrrr." _

Mark's eyes snapped open from a short nap.

It couldn't be happening.

She couldn't be calling him again.

This was the fifth time this week Mark's mother had called him. Each time he hadn't answered the phone.

Each time the messages were louder.

And longer.

"_Marky are you there?" _

_Hell yes I'm here._

"_Why won't you pick up?"_

_Because you are a controlling freak, that's why._

"_We miss you."_

_I'm sure you do._

"_I think you should come to dinner. Scarsdale wants you."_

_Shut up shut up shut up._

"_Mark…are you gay?"_

_No no, this couldn't be happening._

"_I mean…you never have a girlfriend and we are starting to worry."_

_I'm not gay!_

"_Plus we read all these fics that say you are. You have thousands of boyfriends."_

_But they are just teens who fantasize!_

"_And that Roger...is he still dating that stripper? I don't think you should be hanging around these people."_

_But…they are my friends!_

"_And I don't want you dancing on tables. Imagine, you could fall and hit your head and get a concussion!"_

_How'd she find out about that?_

"_And Benny…the man is always calling here. I think you gave him the wrong number."_

_Heh heh that's that you think._

"_Are you warm during the winter? Is your scarf okay?"_

_Scarfy is fine, jeeze._

"_What about your camera? Why do you always keep that thing? You should throw it out."_

_She cares about the scarf, yet she can't care about the camera._

"_How is Maureen? Do you think you two will have a chance again? _

_Ugh, why do you obsess over her?_

"_I still have that dear picture of you and her...she's wearing that silly cow bell but you two looked so adorable."_

_I bet she has a thousand pictures of Maureen...all around the house. Hung in closets or something._

"_Markypoo, please, just, come home. We want to see you. Your dad misses you. I miss you. Nanette misses you. I think you two would make a great--" _

Beep.

* * *

"So, Markypoo, I heard your mom called." Roger snickered, greeting Mark as he came out of his room.

"Shut up. Why are you always up before I am?"

"Um, I dunno." Roger shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee, while reading The Village Voice.

"And why are you always sipping coffee and reading The Village Voice?"

"I have nothing else to do, I guess." Roger dumped out his coffee and put down the paper, which was replaced with his guitar and walked back to his room.

"And why do you always--?"

Roger slammed his door before Mark could finish.

**

* * *

****Ah okay kinda short and pointless, but I promise the next two or so chapters will be better. Please please PLEASE R&R. ****Pretty please.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the slow updates, I wanted to get this chapter up today because I won't have too much computer time in the few days. So anyway, it was hard to write this chapter because I had to mention allfireburns, whom I don't know personally, but I've used many of her icons. I've heard she's an amazing writer, so if any of this gets back to her, I hope she doesn't mind. Enjoy and please R&R!  
****Disclaimer: Yeah I own Rent. And Adam Pascal is in the next room. Psh.**

* * *

"So what did you buy?" Mark had anxiously waited Roger's final return from the grocery store. Usually Mark was the one who did all the shopping for some reason, but he had finally coaxed Roger to get out of the house.

"Uhhh, gummy worms," Roger shifted through the bag, "Cap'n Crunch, bananas by the bunch…and a frozen ham."

Mark blinked at Roger.

"Uh Rog?"

"Yes?"

"Are you insane?"

"Trick question, right?"

"Roger…_where_ are we gonna put the frozen ham? I don't see a freezer around here! And gummy worms? Gummy worms...oh yeah, a great dinner right there."

Roger sighed and opened the gummy worms. "If it's good enough for me, it's good enough for you."

Mark sighed and pushed away the gummy worms when Roger offered them to him.

"Next time, I'm getting the groceries."

"Be muh guesht."

"Who?"

Roger swallowed the delicious snack. "Be my guest."

Mark held himself back from smacking Roger across the face.

_Remember what they taught you in therapy. _He repeated to himself.

"Hey, have you seen Mimi in a while?" Roger asked, feeding himself the gummy worms like they were grapes.

Mark poured some cold coffee into a glass.

"Why? She's not my girlfriend."

Roger frowned, "I know that, I just haven't seen her in a while."

"I have an idea!" Mark smiled, and carried his coffee over to a computer that decided to randomly appear in their loft.

"What?"

"Let's read some fanfiction, and then maybe we can decide where she is!"

Interested in this new 'fanfiction,' Roger, because of his short attention span, dropped the gummies on the counter and pulled up a chair beside Mark.

"Whoa, people actually spend their time writing about us?"

"Yup. Usually bored, pre-pubescent teens who have nothing else better to do then make up stories about us. Like taking road trips, vacationing at beaches, skiing…"

"We can't do any of that! We don't even have the money."

"Somehow we find it, I suppose."

Roger just nodded and watched Mark scroll down the list of titles and names.

"ILikeScarves? Heh, what kind of name is that?" Mark laughed and quickly looked over at Scarfy to make sure he was still there.

"Whoa there are like….thousands of people on here. And they all spend time writing about us? Do they have lives?"

"Well some of them do," Mark explained, "And you can find a lot of good writers. Allfireburns is my favourite. She makes great icons of us."

Roger nodded again, Roger liked fire. He liked throwing things into trashcans then lighting them on fire.

"Aha!" Mark smiled and clicked on a few links to different fics that had 'Mimi M' as one of the characters.

"Well, Mimi could be…." He scanned down them, briefly reading each one because Mark actually has amazing eyesight, and the glasses are just for show.

"At the Catscratch…with Benny?!?!?" Roger pointed to one fic, eyes opened wide.

"No no, here she is with Maureen…and they are swimming…naked?!?!?"

"Well in this one, she is with Joanne...shopping? Does Joanne like to shop?"

"But in this fic…it says she's with Angel, doing _it_."

"Does Collins know?"

"Well Collins is dead. In this fic, not actually dead." Mark straightened his glasses.

"Scroll down more." Roger requested, and Mark did what he was asked.

"Whoa, stop."

"What?" Mark took a sip of his coffee.

"This one says… she with YOU."

Almost spitting out his coffee, but knowing this would wreck their computer, Mark quickly swallowed it, because this writer didn't want him to die.

"With me?? But I'm right here!"

"I know that!"

"Then why would somebody say that?" Mark was a little hurt.

"I don't know."

"You know what? Wherever Mimi is, she would know. I don't care. You'll probably just break up with her anyway."

"That's right."

"This is insane."

"How would these people know where she would be anyway?"

"Well…I think they do stalk us at times."

"Aren't there laws against that? Can't Joanne stop them?"

"They stalk Joanne too."

"Crap."

"Well, I think they only thing we can do is lock our doors and windows at – HEY! Get out of here!"

By this time, Mark had turned around and noticed two girls, wearing bring red t-shirts with the word 'Rent' on it (where were they getting these shirts anyhow?) had climbed through their window.

"Shoo, shoo! Get out of here!!" Mark yelled, taking a broom and attempting to smack the girls with it.

"OHMYGAWDHESAWUS!" The one fangirl yelled, magically jumping down from the window in a car.

"And stay out!" Mark yelled out the window to them. Both fangirls waved back and quickly drove away.

Mark turned back to a puzzled Roger.

"It happens."

He set the broom back and quickly discovered that something was missing.

"The bastards took Scarfy!"

* * *

**LMAO kind of random, but this whole fic is random. Please R&R.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Updated! Finally! So sorry for the wait. My comp crashed and I lost everything, and then we had to get it fixed, yada yada yada. Anyway, this is the last chapter, I'm sorry for it being so long,LMAO. Enjoy and R&R!  
****Disclaimer: Heh like I own anything.**

* * *

"So what is this 'fanfiction' again?" Roger munched on his dinner of gummy worms and stale chips (yum), and watched his friend roll his eyes for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night.

"Didn't I already explain this to you a few chapters ago _and_ last chapter?"

"Well the writer decided to make you explain it to me again. Why does she make me so stupid?"

The writer coughs, blushes, and slowly backs away, regretting the fact that she repeated Mark explaining to Roger what fanfiction was. Two times.

"Look, it's where-- "

Mark was interrupted by a knock on the door. This usually didn't happen unless the author is too lazy to do the whole 'throw down the key' thing.

Mark slowly opened the door to the loft and there stood Thomas Collins, tears running down his face.

"Oh my God what happened?" Roger decided to move his ass off the couch and walked towards his friend.

"She's….dead."

"Who? Who is dead?" Mark put an arm around Collins and moved him to their couch.

Collins slowly sat down, and put his head in his hands.

"Angel….Ang…she's gone…"

Mark and Roger both gasped and slow violin music started to play.

"Where the hell is that coming from?" Mark looked up and slowly made his way to their window. He spotted two teenagers, one was holding a violin while the other was setting up a tent.

Both looked up, spotting Mark, and the music was cut short with a screech, and the girls where waving at a now very pissed off Mark.

"GET AWAY! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE!" Mark starting waving his hands at them, but the girls took this as a friendly gesture, waved even faster at him.

"LEAVE US ALONE!"

The girls started yelling at Mark again, calling him Jesus.

"GO AWAY!" Mark yelled, and with that, slammed the window shut.

Mark resumed his place on their couch, Collins and Roger both staring at him.

"Fangirls." He explained, shrugging his shoulders.

Both nodded in the familiarity of the word, and continued to cry.

"Look, Collins, I'm so sorry about her. Was it peaceful?" Mark grabbed some tissues from their table and dabbed his eyes.

Collins slowly moved his head up and down, and took out a joint from his pocket. "We were just watching a TV movie and then she just….was gone."

Mark and Roger both nodded, and Mark glanced at Roger, who was looking at him.

Suddenly, he felt a spark. He was in love with Roger. He had to be.

"So uh, Angel is dead, right?" Mark slowly tore himself away from Roger's gorgeous eyes and Collins furrowed his brow at his friend.

"Uh, yeah."

Mark just raised his eyebrows and nodded, and he glanced over at Roger who was still staring at him.

It was love.

"Well uh, that's too bad, Collins, but you'll get over it…sing a song or two, don't worry. She'll just appear on that stage again."

Collins looked at his friend, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

"Um okay…thanks?" The teacher was starting to feel he wasn't welcomed anymore.

The writer invites Collins over to her place.

Mark quickly got up from their couch, pulled on the anarchist's arm and dragged him to the door.

"So yeah, nice seeing you again." Mark pushed the roadblock aka Collins out of the loft and slammed the door behind him.

"So…" He walked towards Roger, smiling seductively.

"So.." Roger munched on some more chips and sat back in his chair.

Mark started towards the couch and then stopped, looked at Roger again, and sat himself down into Roger's lap.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Roger nearly dropped his chips, but quickly sat them on the table.

"You were staring at me while Collins was here." Mark purred, running his hands through Roger's hair. He was getting lucky tonight.

"Man, you have problems. You had some food on the side of your face. I was hinting for you to get a napkin or something."

"But…don't you want me? Don't you hate Mimi? You want me right? Cause you always do…haven't you heard of MarkxRoger? M/R? 'When Mimi isn't looking'?"

"Dude, you are crushing my leg and no! Get the hell off of me! Go find Maureen or film something." Roger pushed Mark off his lap onto the floor. Mark came crashing to the ground and his head flopped back, hitting it off of the table.

For a few minutes he blacked out, but could hear Roger yelping about how much his leg hurt.

Suddenly he awoke and sat himself up.

"I think you broke my leg, you bastard." Roger was now clutching his leg, wondering what was gonna kill him first: The death penalty for killing Mark, dying of AIDS, or his leg.

"But why did you push me?" Mark was now standing and rubbing his head.

"Because you came onto me!"

"What? No! No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

Mark sighed, he couldn't of. Roger was his best friend. Why would some writers make them cannon? Why would some writers write this at all?

There was a knock on the door again and Mark went to answer it.

"Mark!" a rather cheery Collins greeted his friend and hugged him.

"Dude, weren't you here like a few minutes ago? Isn't Angel dead?"

Collins cocked an eyebrow at Mark. "Man, what are you talking about?" Collins looked at Roger. "What is he talking about?"

Roger just shrugged and then it came to him.

"He must of entered the world of 'Mark and Roger are Cannon and Angel is Dead and Nothing Can Stop Us'. See, I read up on this. This is where writers, usually under 15, write about us in a relationship….and Angel is usually dead." Roger smiled and munched on even more chips. Damn he loved chips. Hell, Roger loved_ food._

Mark's eyes opened wide at the thought of this. "No…no…no way. I couldn't of."

"Don't worry, it's Collins fault too. He tells us Angel is dead, but she never is. It's all in the state of mind or something like that. I just go along with it, but I never expected you to do _that_…man, that was just creepy. What if Mimi walked in?"

"Don't worry Mark; I seem to enter the realm of MaRaCaAiD too. Heh, we can just call it Maracaid. Mar- ass- aid. Sounds like some kind of drug." Collins laughed and took another drag from his joint.

"But I….I'm not that kind of person…I mean, I like gay people, hell, I hang out with them half the time, but I'm_ straight._" Mark shook his head and buried it in his hands.

Roger nodded and found words of reassurance. "Well if you _were_ gay, that'd be okay. We'd shout 'hurray'! But I'm not gay." Roger smiled and finished off the bag of chips.

"Shut up I'm trying to read." Mark picked up a random magazine and started to flip through it. _Why does everybody think I'm gay? Even my mom does._ Mark continued to flip through the magazine, hiding his face from his friends. _When will these fanfic writers ever learn?_

While Mark sat in his misery, Collins and Roger were chatting it up.

"Man, your leg looks pretty bad; I think you might need a cane."

"A cane? What the hell…I'm not old, I don't need a cane." Roger crossed his arms and looked down at his leg that was now deformed, a few bones were jetting out the side of it. What was Collins talking about? It was perfectly fine.

"How did it happen to you anyway?" Collins asked, and suddenly he had the munchies, and craved for pickles and cranberries.

Roger shifted his eyes at the question and shrugged. "Eh long story."

Accepting that answer, Collins got off his chair and moved towards the kitchen.

"Do you guys, uh, have any pickles around here?" He nervously laughed and looked through the cupboards. All he could find was some old cheese, leftover sausages and some tuna.

"Pickles? No. Roger hates them. Along with any other food that exists. Besides chips and gummy worms." Mark had finally put down the magazine. Reading about people Mark didn't know wasn't too interesting, so that's why he read fanfiction instead. He could get made-up gossip about his friends.

Collins pouted and searched around for another joint in his pocket. Suddenly, he found something he was sure Mark would love.

"Uh Mark, I haven't seen you with your scarf--"

"Scarfy." Mark corrected Collins subtly.

"Yeah, um, Scarfy. Anyway, I found this on the way to your place."

Almost like a miracle, Collins pulled out the beloved striped scarf from his vest pocket.

"SCARFY!" Mark screamed, running over to his first love (meaning the scarf, not Collins), carefully inspecting it over a few times, and finally snuggled with it.

"Did those fangirls hurt you? Don't tell me they ripped you or anything." Mark asked the scarf, er, Scarfy, and started to sooth it and sing to it, wandering back to his room to do God only knows with it.

Mind out of the gutter, kids.

Collins glanced at Roger.

"He so needs to get laid."

"I'd say so."

"And you need a cane, so here."

Using the magical powers only Thomas Collins can possess, our favorite Anarchist with the snap of his fingers and like BAM!, a cane was made.

Roger sighed and took the cane that Collins was holding, slowly standing up.

"Hey I'm cured! My leg is fixed! Collins, I think you are the true hero of this story."

"I do too Rog, I do too."

So our Emo Rocker and Happy Anarchist-Stoner sat back and drank a Bohemian or two, Mark running Scarfy along his neck (Mark/Scarf writers rejoice), the three waiting for their lives to be screwed up, once again, by fanfiction writers everywhere.

* * *

**Please R&R! Thank you for all the feedback!**


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